


Just a Little Touch

by Nelsynoo



Series: Anwen Trevelyan [8]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Accidental electric shock, Cullen dealing with his past, F/M, Fluff, Kissing, Literal sparks flying, One Shot, Sexy Fluff, Vaguely Smutty, but not really, kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-28 07:39:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5083414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nelsynoo/pseuds/Nelsynoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anwen Trevelyan and Cullen are enjoying some sexy times preamble when Anwen gets a little too excited and accidentally shocks Cullen. Obviously Cullen and a mage Inquisitor are going to have some issues to work out.</p><p>This scene is set a fair bit into the game, certainly after the relationship is well-established but before the shenanigans with Samson after which Cullen tells the Inquisitor about what happened at Kinloch Hold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just a Little Touch

Cullen gave a little breathy moan, low and eager. In the stillness of his office, it seemed astonishingly loud, almost vulgar.

And it was the most glorious thing Anwen had ever heard. 

Perched on the edge of Cullen’s desk, her legs curled around his waist, she gave her hips another little roll to see if she could tease the sound from him once more. She grinned against his mouth when he moaned again, this time accompanied by a needy whimper.

The hand in her hair tightened its grip, tugging almost painfully at the curls at the nape of her neck. The other snaked its way up the outside of her thigh, the heat of his palm leaving her skin tingling even through her trousers. Implacable in its quest ever higher, his hand skimmed lightly, politely even, over the curve of her bum before slipping under her tunic to rest on soft skin at the hollow of her back. Then he _pushed_ , the insistent pressure on her back forcing her torso flush against his.

Now it was her turn to moan.

The sound was swallowed by their kiss, lost somewhere between rolling tongues and nipping teeth. Cullen was a thoughtful kisser, determined but not forceful, eager but not selfish. Each time his tongue darted between parted lips, it was teasing and torturously gentle. He pulled away from their kiss to Anwen’s great consternation, pressing his lips instead to the corner of her mouth, her cupid’s bow, the tip of her nose. Each kiss was so soft, almost reverent, that Anwen felt her heart skittering in her chest, surprised at just how _tender_ Cullen could be.

She unclenched her hands from the collar of his tunic, started tugging clumsily at the ties on the front of his shirt instead. The shirt would be removed far easier if she could see what she was doing, if their bodies were not so closely pressed together, but she was loath to push him back, preferring instead to grope ineffectually at the ties in the hope that eventually she would pull them free. She grumbled with frustration when her inelegant pawing failed to untie the front of his shirt and Cullen chuckled at her impatience. She felt it as much as heard it, a pleasant vibration where his lips touched her temple.

But Anwen was in all things indefatigable and at last her slender fingers pulled the ties free, granting her access to skin so hot it almost felt feverish. Her small hands eagerly swept the plains of his chest, tracing each muscle and pulling soft fingertips against firm flesh.

Cullen was still trailing delicate kisses across her face. They snaked from her temple, across her cheekbone, down to her chin. She gasped when he nipped the skin under her jawbone, her legs tightening, heels digging into his backside. He nibbled his way down the column of her throat then kissed the juncture between neck and shoulder. When he dragged his tongue across her collarbone, her hips bucked unbidden and a tiny spark of lightning jumped from her fingertips.

He immediately jerked back, eyes wide with shock and something perilously close to disgust.

Fuck.

What had she done? 

They both stood stock-still, neither quite comprehending what had just happened. Sitting on the edge of his desk, tunic rumpled and hair mussed, Anwen felt excruciatingly exposed.

She raised her hands in what she hoped was a placating gesture, “I’m sorry… I didn’t – I didn’t mean to. I was just…” she shrugged vaguely as she struggled to find the right word, glanced to the floor in case it was hiding there. “Excited,” she ended weakly, a burning flush blossoming up her neck and over her cheeks.

“It’s ok,” he said, although it was clear from his tone, stiff and cold, that it wasn’t.

“It was an accident. It just… happens… sometimes. Cullen please…” She made to reach for him then thought better of it. An outstretched arm from a mage could be misinterpreted as threatening. Instead she wrapped her arms around herself, gazed at him imploringly while trying to ignore the expression on his face. He looked utterly stricken, pained almost, his eyes not quite focused on her but lost to memories.

They’d spoken at length about Kirkwall, about the Knight-Captain driven mad by red lyrium, about cruelties meted out on mages and a violent rebellion that had left the streets streaked with rivers of blood. But never had Cullen divulged much about his time in Ferelden’s Circle. Of course there were rumours. Rumours of mages tearing the living apart limb by limb and men driven mad until they clawed free of their own skin. Anwen hadn’t pressed Cullen to tell her, knew that it would only push him away if she tried. But his experiences had clearly left him wary of magic, and her unexpected spark had surprised him, brought back difficult memories perhaps.

Finally his eyes came into focus and he held her gaze steadily. His expression softened, the shock and pain draining away, although some of the wariness remained. He stepped back to her, close enough that her knees touched the front of his thighs, and took her offending hand in his own. He pressed a kiss to the palm, followed by each of the fingers in turn. Then he curled her fingers around his own, looking at their entwined fingers affectionately.

“It’s ok,” he said, sounding more convincing this time. “I’m ok.”

Relieved, she leant forward until her forehead rested against his chest, took comfort from the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the pattering of his heartbeat. He raised the hand that wasn’t intertwined with hers to the nape of her neck, traced lazy circles on her skin with the tips of his fingers.

They remained like that for some time, silent except for their own breathing. “One day I will tell you everything,” he said at last, so softly Anwen almost missed it, “I just… I need more time.”

She looked up at him, nodded in understanding, then pressed a light kiss to the fluttering pulse at his throat. More time was fine; she could give him more time. Frankly, given the fleeting nature of all her previous relationships, she was _thrilled_ by the thought of more time.

**Author's Note:**

> For more writing, drabbles, artwork and general rambling, please check out my [tumblr](http://nelsynoo.tumblr.com/).


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